


What the Tide Washed In

by rhosgotskulled



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannigram - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhosgotskulled/pseuds/rhosgotskulled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story that picks up right where Wrath of the Lamb left off and explores how Will and Hannibal adapt to their life together and what it brings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Tide Washed In

**PART 1**

 

Will is choking.  
He swallows the blackness, his throat clogging and he gasps desperately. It is so black he isn’t sure if it is the water or the blood from his wounded cheek that he gurgles on.

He had imagined drowning as calm and serene way to die, a brief and quiet fade from the world. The many murders he designed were more violent and sharp than this. But he could not have been more wrong. It is the worst feeling in the world, because he cannot feel anything around him, no one around him.  
This is when the fear really hits Will Graham.  
He just had him in his arms not long ago, his grip holding on tight. But he is lost. It is too dark and he is not breathing. He closes his eyes and imagines the darkness filling his lungs. His heart slowing…

Will feels something...

_Relief._

He feels strong hands find him and grabs him, dragging him up to the rough white surface of the thrashing Atlantic Ocean.  
Opening his eyes in the cold water he sees a silhouette of a man above him, tall and lean and dark against the light of the sunrise above the surface, creating a halo effect around the figure. Will finds a little effort in his tired bones to stroke his way upwards with the silhouette.  
Along the way the silhouette’s shape manifests several times, from a stag to a shark and then back to a man.

_Light._

Will is too weak. Barely conscious enough to do it himself, the man opens Will’s mouth with his delicate fingers and frees the black from Will’s throat until he helplessly splutters the blood and sea out of him.  
The sky above them is red and the sea reflects it. They are surrounded by a crimson dawn.

The blood red rising sun runs through his veins, the light burns his skin.  
The man holds Will with the crook of his elbow tucked under Will’s chin, keeping the two afloat. The two figures skim through the water, leaving veins of black through the red sea in his wake.

Will finally has the energy to hold his head up and catches the face of the man who is saving him.

Hannibal Lecter.

His face is like stone, his eyes are like night. Filled with determination and a will to survive, he swims the two of them against the water.

_He lives. He thrives._

With a shattering sigh, his heart now pulsating, Will closes his eyes and wades quietly into the stream of his memory palace. 

_Darkness._

* * *

 The house is deadly silent. The echo of the murdered man no longer reverberates through reality now. He is no more. But Will Graham is. And to Hannibal that is is all that matters.

After finding land and recovering for a few moments on a craggy beach, Hannibal had carried Will in his arms, ignoring the bullet wound pain in his gut, ignoring his scrapes from the rocks. The FBI is far too close and he needs to find shelter. Better, he needs to find a phone.

A few miles inshore Hannibal finds a large and secluded house within a wood. The house is asleep when Hannibal scouts it. Laying Will down in the dark cover of the trees, pillowing his head on a root, Hannibal approaches the house with feet barely touching the ground. He prowls the perimeter and judges that the house is a holiday rental for families on weekends and the only occupier is a groundsman who lives in the converted barn on the property. It’s almost too easy when Hannibal strangles the sixty-seven year old man in his sleep.

Hannibal quickly stakes out the barn conversion for medical supplies. All he manages is a first aid kit and a few threads and needles.  
Staggering back out, he breaks into the large house smashing the windows, and, glad to hear no security alarm system screaming back at him, carries Will into a ground floor bedroom in the rear of the house, the medical supplies already brought in beforehand ready. After laying Will onto the bed Hannibal collapses straight onto a chair in the corner of the room.

He has lost too much blood, so has Will too. Hannibal now regrets strangling the man dead in the barn, if he had thought of it sooner he could have done a blood transfusion but he soon hisses that thought away and sets to work. He brings a bowl of water and a towel to wash his wound and begins to stitch it up, while swallowing some pain killers he also manages to find in the bathroom of the house.  
When his wound is closed and bandaged Hannibal finally tends to Will, washing his face gently from the sea and dried blood and closes the gaping hole of Will’s right cheek and then the same t the stab wound on his right shoulder. Though still unconscious, Hannibal doses Will with some heavy sleeping tables that was with the painkillers he found and sits by his side, listening to the bedraggled gasps of Will’s breath, making sure his chest is lifting up and down, his lungs working.  
Hannibal is not impressed with the medical equipment he is forced to work with but it does the job. He’s saved Will and himself for now.

And now is enough.

  
Satisfied with Will’s stable condition Hannibal searches for the house phone and dials in a number slowly, as if he was simply calling to make a reservation at a restaurant.  
Someone picks up on the other end of the line.

Hannibal’s head springs up. “It’s me. I require your help.”

The voice on the other side responds.  
Hannibal states the currently location down the phone and he knows it well. He made sure he knew everything within a 50 mile radius of his sanctuary on the cliff and this secluded holiday stay was one of his fall back plans.  
“It’s for two this time. Don’t be late.”

 _Agency_. Hannibal had agency at his beck and call, he was a psychiatrist and he had helped a lot of people. Even after these three years, he still had favours owed to him and plenty to take advantage of.

Afterwards, Hannibal returns to Will’s room and sits on the chair in the corner for a moment, watching the sun shine through the gap in the curtains and rest on Will’s face. Hannibal stares at the man he had found, the man he had helped find himself and discover his true potential and now here they were, after luring together, after hunting together, after killing together. Killing the Great Red Dragon was a symbol of them combining themselves together, to be more than Hannibal and Will. To be together, they forged a power in the same height of God’s.

  
Hannibal falls asleep on his guard over Will’s body and wakes a couple of minutes later to a sound of a car pulling into the entrance of the house. Slowly, Hannibal raises and before exiting the room, he places a soft hand on Will’s forehead to check his temperature. He is a little hot but Will had suffered a lot worse than that before, Hannibal concludes.  
He leaves the room casually, not too curious as to who had just arrived and then he opened the front door as if expecting guests.  
In the drive way was a lone police car, the lights are not flashing and the engine has died. There is only one uniformed police officer in the car. Hannibal gently raises his arms above his hands, as if in surrender and watches the officer as he steps out of the vehicle.

The uniform cop is in his mid-twenties with jet black hair and is clean shaven. He doesn’t look alarmed when he sees Hannibal Lecter, the most wanted man out on a run after escaping custody. Instead he surveys Hannibal and the house and grabs his radio that is strapped onto his Kevlar.  
Hannibal meets his eyes, something dark stirs beneath them and a smile plays on his lips.

  
“The holiday home has been searched and no sign of a force entry or any other disturbances. The grounds keeper is safe and well. I don’t think Hannibal has passed here even if he did survive the fall. Permission to leave?” He asked through the radio, staring right at Lecter.

The radio static cracks.

“Permission granted.” A formal voice confirms from the other side.  
“Noted.” He simply replies back and switches off the radio.  
Hannibal lowers his arms and approaches the officer.  
“It’s nice to meet again, despite the current circumstances.” Hannibal greets but winces when a stitch tears at his side.  
The cop notices.  
“You’re looking pretty beaten up there.” He comments on Hannibal’s injuries.  
Hannibal gives him a warning look, “Not quite as bad as the mess I have left for you in the barn.” He replies.  
The cop understands and nods, “I’ll get right on it. The key is in the ignition. I’ll say you stole off in the car after hitting me at the back of my head. It’ll be peachy.” The cop has a very cheeky manner but Hannibal ignores it. It was always handy to have a psychotic bent cop on his side should the need rises again.  
Hannibal gestures for the cop to leave him to it as the cop stages a scene for the FBI in a barn. Hannibal can just let the FBI assume for now he and Will died in the fall but Hannibal knows better to underestimate Jack and his team, when Hannibal does fake his own death it would be far more convincing than this. The chase, as ever it was with Hannibal Lecter, is always on.

  
The police car passes by unstudied. Driving, Hannibal is dressed in a police officer uniform with aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. Behind him in the back seat Will is laid down, hidden from view and unaware of what Hannibal is doing. Police cars do not have music stereos in their interior but when Hannibal passes town to town he hears Vide Cor Meum play inside his head, and he relaxes. The tracker device on the vehicle has been removed, as was planned so Hannibal is free to travel, and for hours he does, until he turns into a private air strip, where a chopper awaits for him and his companion. 

* * *

 

_Jack Crawford looks down at him from the top of the cliff, hands in his pockets, his face grim but determined. The figure of Jack is replaced my Alana, before her fall from Hannibal’s window, her hair loose, her face soft and concerned, and as quick as she arrives she is replaced by Molly. Will feels like crying as he sees Molly’s disappointment in him on her face. But something startles Molly, and then he notices the antlers piercing through her body and her form changes into himself. He watches the old Will Graham, his glasses jauntily on, and watches as he sputters blood from his mouth and hangs from the antlers, drawing his last breath._

The sound of the sea wakes up Will Graham from his terrors.  
It’s not the rough, threatening sounds of the sea that took his other life away but replaced by a calm sound of small waves rolling onto a beach as gulls cry softly in the sky.  
The room is white with light, French doors wide open to a warm bright day in a place Will does not recognise. A breeze comes through the open doorway and with it a smell of fish cooking, a slightly salting but welcome smell it is.

It occurs to Will of how much of an appetite he has.  
The second thing that occurs to Will is, after he sits up in his bed, an IV drip is attached to his arm and he pulls it out gently. He then notices that his body is covered with bandages and all he is wearing is his underwear. His right cheek throbs too, and as he attempts to open his mouth to call out, the pain stops him in him in mid syllable.  
He’s scarred, beaten and weak. But he’s alive.  
Will Graham begins to try and process what it has meant for him but his mind is cloudy and his thoughts are jumbled. Realising he’s probably drugged up with large amounts of morphine he slowly climbs out of bed onto shaky legs and carefully bends towards a silk dressing gown hanging on a hook by his bed.  
Draping it around him he walks through the open French doors and onto a patio that faces a long empty beach, almost tropical looking, a vast sea a turquoise colour and the sand white. To his right he finds the porch of the large beach house and under the shelter of it stands Hannibal Lecter, dressed in a smart flannel white shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He is working over a grill, a barbeque of some sort but far fancier than any Will has seen before. The heat from the stove ripples the air over Hannibal’s features, creating an illusion of a mirage.  
Will wonders if any of what he is experiencing right now is even real. Has he found Hannibal a place in his mind palace like he did with Abigail Hobbs?  
Will takes his time to walk over to Hannibal, or the illusion of him, and half way stops and stares out into the horizon, the warm sun touching his face.  
Silently Hannibal joins him at his side. Barely inches apart but still not touching, the two of them look into the edge of the world and say nothing for a long moment.

Eventually Hannibal looks at Will, his eyes wide and searching.

“Come. Breakfast will get cold.”

Will follows and when he and Hannibal arrive at the alfresco dining area under the porch, the fish is laid out in a beautiful display, with eggs, ham and fruit also available on the table.  
Will sits down opposite Hannibal and takes a bite of the fish and savours it. Hannibal watches him with his eyes alight and takes his own bite.  
“Where are we?” Will asks finally, his voice a little hoarse but his cheek feeling better now.

“Somewhere we cannot be found.” Hannibal pauses, looking at the sea and then back to Will. “Do you wish to be found Will?” He asks, failing to disguise the doubts in his voice, the doubts about Will’s intentions.

Will does not answer, allowing Hannibal to suffer further.  
Hannibal changes the subject, “I had hoped our first meal together in this new life would be the Red Dragon but unfortunately we were denied that opportunity.”  
Will smiles in response, his eyes are no longer glazed by the morphine but alert and playful.

“I was curious to what would happen.” explains Will. He is referring to the fall.  
He wonders whether he did feel Hannibal surrender to it, but the memories are still cloudy.

“Did you wonder which side of the pendulum needle would land upon?” Hannibal studies Will, who is too hard to read now. “Are you satisfied with what fate has given you?”

Will places down his cutlery and sits back in his seat, taking a deep breath. He suddenly feels dizzy, the air is getting thick. It’s very humid; he guesses they’ve moved down closer to the equator, South America perhaps?

“We have tried separating before, Hannibal, twice. But we snap right back together when the elastic chord between us was stretched too tight. I think we both know where we are destined to be.”  
Will stretches his right arm across the table towards Hannibal and softly lays it over Hannibal’s left hand.  
Hannibal’s breathe catches slightly with the contact. “Are you deciding if I am real, Will?”  
Will continues to brush his fingers over Hannibal’s hand, their eyes glued to one another. Will sighs the same sigh he lets out when he laid his hand on the glass in Hannibal’s cell, not days before.  
“I assure you, in this very moment, I am as real as I have ever been, with you here with me.”

* * *

The breakfast plays on, like theatre, every prop in its place, both roles executed by Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter perfectly.

When it is over Will prepares himself for a shower and to dress, meanwhile Hannibal tends to clear the table into the spacious open kitchen.  
Will struggles out of his robe in his room but pain stabs his shoulder, groaning that he has moved his right arm too high. Almost immediately Hannibal enters the room, after hearing Will’s discomfort.  
He patiently waits for Will to remove his robe himself, but Will continues to struggle and hurts himself to which Hannibal cannot stand any longer of.

  
“Allow me to help.” Hannibal urges quietly, promptly joining Will’s side and threading Will’s arm out of the sleeve of the robe, gently guiding the elbow with his hand.  
Will allows Hannibal to help him, watching him all the while and admiring his grace. With dismay he catches the bandage of Hannibal’s own injuries through the thin material of Hannibal’s shirt.

“It appears I’ve left my own mark on you.” Will indicates as Hannibal finishes de-robing Will, the smile Hannibal left him exposed on his bare tummy.  
“We have come full circle.” Hannibal explains.  
“And here we are.” Will announces.  
“And here we are.” Hannibal echoes.  
“Fate and circumstance.” Will remembers what Hannibal had said to him once.  
Will touches the bloodied old bandage around his shoulder and Hannibal gestures for Will to sit on the side of the bed, to change the bandages. Slowly unwrapping the dressing, Hannibal asks Will, “Tell me Will, how do you feel?”  
In spite of himself Hannibal resumes the role the psychiatrist once again, trying to work out Will’s head, to hear it tick.  
“I feel peaceful,” Will admits “Like I finally know myself.”  
Hannibal finishes the undressing and looks up at Will, “I am glad.”  
Hannibal then stands up and strides to the bathroom, collects the fresh bandages and lays them down onto the bed until Will needs him to redress his wounds again. He turns to leave so Will can wash in private.

“Hannibal.” Will calls out, stopping Hannibal from leaving. He is standing up now, watching him, his body and scars bared.  
Hannibal stalls by the door.                           Still looking away, he asks, “Yes, Will?”        

Will approaches Hannibal in a slow prowl.

“Are they searching for us?” Will stops a few feet behind Hannibal.  
“They’ll be searching for me but not for you.” Hannibal drops his head, still refusing to turn around.  
“We killed Dolarhyde together; we murdered and took down the dragon.”  
“Did we Will? Not in the FBI’s perspective. You made sure of that when you pulled me into the water.” Hannibal turns around and faces Will, “Sink or swim Will, you win both ways.”  
Will steps closer to him, a foot between them.  
“I swam with you, Hannibal.” Will’s attempt to rectify is weak.  
“No, I saved you from sinking and forced you to swim. Truly, at this very moment, can you really claim you know who you are?”  
It takes a moment for Will to realise that Hannibal is hurt; his body is tense and guarded, his voice low and controlled.  
Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Will raises both of his hands and cups Hannibal’s face in his hands; stroking his hair, drawing his thumb along Hannibal’s cheekbones. “I knew I wasn’t going to sink because I had you, whatever that would have had happened it would have returned us to this moment. I knew that if you survived you would save me, but if we both didn’t make it, it would have had been with each other. I told you before; neither of us can survive separation another time.”  
Will continues to stroke back Hannibal’s hair away from his face and Hannibal relaxes into Will’s touch, much like the way he did after they killed Dolarhyde.  
“I need you Hannibal, and I’m not going anywhere without you.”  
Will eventually lower his hands, turns and enters the en-suit bathroom of his room, leaving Hannibal alone with his thoughts and plans.

  
Hannibal waits and listens to the water running in the next room, after a while he walks through the French windows onto the beach. There he begin his and Will’s new life together, this time it will not be Florence or Paris but somewhere he has never been before so every new place Hannibal experiences he would share it with Will Graham. But first, before he could even indulge in it, he has unfinished business, a meal to plan and meat is very much back on the menu.

 

* * *

 

The shower clarifies Will; the cold washes away the dried blood, the grime and the cloudiness of his mind. He plays back the fight of that night in his mind. The animalistic partnership he and Hannibal Lecter shared, the exhilarating feeling of killing together, the black blood on Will’s skin, holding onto Hannibal as he felt his life slipping away but somehow feeling more alive than ever.  
He tries to determine what he really meant for when he lead Hannibal over the edge, whether it was the old Will Graham or the new. Did he still feel that shame even then? No, he doesn’t feel it, the shame and guilt are gone, drowned in the Atlantic Sea. Now baptised, free of those restraints he feels free and powerful and having found an equal he could finally embrace his dark instincts with.  
Will watches the dark water of the blood wash down the drain and against the white, it is beautiful.

  
Climbing out of the shower he catches himself in the mirror and takes himself aback by his reflection. He’s not the Will Graham he watched die on the antlers of the Ravenstag in his sleep, this is the Will he saw in Hannibal, the Will he saw in his memory palace killing those victims, this was him. He and Hannibal had created a tableau of their relationship in the body of Francis Dolarhyde, left for Jack and everyone to see, this was his design.

Will emerges from the bathroom naked and searches for clothes. He finds briefs and pants, his size and type, wondering if Hannibal had always intended to take Will here. Before he thinks about it Hannibal is back at the window, a tray of tea in his hands, and lays it down on a small table in the room.  
“I thought you might appreciate a drink.” He says, and grins when he sees how clean and healthy Will looks, how strong.  
“Here,” Hannibal gestures, heading for the bandages, with Will following and sits upon the bed and he gently folds the strips around Will. The stab wound looks better already, the cut wasn’t too deep, but the cut on his cheek would certainly scar, something to match the one on my forehead, Will thinks.  
Hannibal pins the bandage and makes sure it’s not too tight but Will knows Hannibal is delaying the end of contact, the touch of his expert hands tease at Will’s resistance. So he stands up and goes to the wardrobe, picks out a shirt and helps himself to a pour of tea from the pot and Hannibal joins him.  
They both take a sip, looking at each other from over their cups.  
“I am afraid this honeymoon period cannot last, Will.”  
“This is our honeymoon?” Will teases, like he was not privy to the intention. Hannibal purses his lips and sets down his cup.  
“You explained that you need me Will. But I want you.”  
“You have me.” Will declares, motioning to himself in the beautiful beach house.  
“I have your mind and soul Will, but not your body.”  
“You’re never going to eat me, Hannibal.”  
“I don’t have the intention of eating you Will, at least not in the manner you think of.”  
Will is quiet for a long moment; he sets down his cup in a loud clang on the saucer. “Do you have anything stronger to drink?”  
“A whole cellar full in fact.”

 

* * *

 

The tea is taken away and now Hannibal and Will were sitting under the porch watching the sea rise and fall with glasses of deep red wine in their hands.  
The end of the last conversation weighs heavy in the air and cannot be ignored.  
“Is sex important to you Hannibal? You used it to blind Alana, you probably baited it to Bedelia she is so obsessed of you.”  
“She was obsessed of our relationship, that’s different.” Hannibal continues, “And you used sex to prove a point Will. With Margot you played a similar game.”  
“One with which you won.” Tells Will bitterly. But then he understands now, everything Hannibal had done, the pain he caused Will, taking away every potential of family from Will that was not Hannibal. Because soon enough Will Graham will hurt those who are close to him and Hannibal knew that the only family left for Will in the world was the doctor himself.  
“Talking of Bedelia, that’s part of what I was mentioning before Will. I do not intend for her to go away unscathed.”  
“Will this be our first hunt?”  
“The second if you count Dolarhyde.”  
“But we didn’t eat Dolarhyde.”  
“No and what a shame that was too.” The two of them share a glance and share a laugh but then Hannibal grows serious.  
“I believe I can find Bedelia,” Hannibal raises his glass as if making a toast. “Will you participate?”  
Will raises his own and raises his eyebrows, amused.  
“It will be my pleasure.”  
They clink glasses and drink, imagining the arrangement of the dinner, Bedelia watching Will and Hannibal taste her, and she tastes good thanks to the oysters Hannibal prepares for her.  
“Soon the honeymoon will be over and we will travel all parts of the globe, hiding and playing games all the while, but today we are alone and completely at ease.”  
“Are you trying to make a proposition?”  
“Is it only the danger that excites you Will?”  
“We’re both dangerous even when we’re only around each other.”  
“Then why are you so shy Will?”  
“I’m not shy.” Will says defensively.  
“Afraid then.” Hannibal says, “Afraid because you know you cannot go back, because you wouldn’t want to. You’d crave me too much.”  
“I’m not going back, this is endgame.”  
“To them you’re dead, a hero and dead. Tell me that isn’t convenient for you Will?”  
Will does not answer; he is too offended to answer. He takes a long sip of his wine and grimaces. “I don’t like the wine.”  
Hannibal blinks and sets down his own glass, stands up and as he heads towards the water he strips off his clothing one by one, and dives into the turquoise glass nude.

  
Despite his last remark Will gulps down his wine and waits. He doesn’t know what for.  
He watches Hannibal swim length back and forth across the horizon. Will wonders how he manages, he’s slow and steady but the bullet wound would still be causing ache to his body surely. And yet Hannibal’s strokes are composed and timed and Will takes his glass down and follows Hannibal, wading into the water in his clothes, not caring about his own wounds or of anything else, stuck in a trance.  
In the water Hannibal stops and swims towards Will, who is now shoulder length deep in the sea, shirt sticking to his chest above the water but flowing around beneath. Hannibal dives under the surface, grabs hold onto Will’s waist and pulls him down and feels Will obey to it.

  
Through the blue world they claw at each other, grabbing one another not craving breath but only for each other and their mouths so close to connecting, both hungry to kiss, they break the water and in the sun their heads part away to look at each other, helping to wipe the hair and water from their faces and then draw closer, bodies entwined, floating as one, Will kisses Hannibal, a long hard kiss and Hannibal grips his hands around him tight. Will moves to kiss his neck and Hannibal, elate with passion tears the shirt on Will’s back and touches any skin he can find, his fingernails biting in and in response, Will kisses Hannibal again, his teeth softly bites down Hannibal’s bottom lip. Hannibal lays back and guides Will back under the water, the water drifts them apart slightly so Hannibal greedily removes the remaining items of clothing including the bandage. Fingering the scars around Will’s body, including painfully, the fresh ones, Hannibal kisses Will, air bubbles all around them.  
The tide sweeps them in, the land now shallow beneath them; they lay down on the warmth and dry of the sand. Hannibal on top, Will beneath in full embrace, of holding, gripping, biting and kissing every available inch of the other, when Hannibal feels the hardness of Will under him and the satisfaction is too much for him, he looks at Will and holds him in his hand and Will understands, he pushes Hannibal’s shoulders down, whilst Hannibal kisses and licks from his chest downwards until he finds Will’s penis and takes him in his mouth. The loud groans and moans of Will is music to his ears, his own penis hard and throbbing from the excitement, the ache of wanting him for so long now gone and replaced by an even larger appetite for Will Graham, the man he loves.  
Will Graham comes and it’s as if nothing post fall had even happened but just for this moment between Hannibal and himself, the no running, no drugs, no mind games, just the water and each other’s bodies left in the wake of a kill.  
Bodies caked in sand, sea and sweat they stagger towards the Will’s room, and fall onto the bed. Will takes Hannibal in his hands and finishes him, Hannibal almost tearing at Will’s curls during climax and when it’s over every limb is wrapped against the others, both panting and chests heaving, one body not extinguished from the other and how it should be from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is the first time I have ever written anything as smutty as this so I apologise if it's done pretty bad but I really thought that it was meant to happen for the characters eventually anyway, if season 4 did get the green light (which I really hope it does) Also, I was intending this to be a one shot but I am planning to write Hannibal and Will's hunt of Bedelia and I'll be excited to see how you would like that. If you did enjoy and want more please leave me a kudos and I shall be happy to update! :)  
> P.S. hope you guys have picked up on some references from the end of Hannibal the book.


End file.
